


Getting Up

by typing_dragon



Series: Burning Out [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, depressed Hux
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 13:29:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14214159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typing_dragon/pseuds/typing_dragon
Summary: It's 4:38 in the afternoon, the middle of gamma shift, and Hux cannot get up.





	Getting Up

_Help_

  
He types it, then deletes the four letters. Closes the messaging application and returns to the other tab, resumes staring at season whatever of Canto Bight Casino Overhaul. It's the third time he has tried to type out a message. The third time he failed to hit the send button on any kind of attempt at what might translate to: I need you. The third time he has given up and returned to "that bantha liver is kriffing raw!", instead of telling anyone what is going on.  
  
It's 4:38 in the afternoon , the middle of gamma shift, and Hux cannot get up.  
He's not hurting, not physically ill; but he cannot. His bones feel heavy, and as he lays on his bed, fully dressed, he is utterly uncomfortable. He knows he could get up, get back to work, or at the very least, he could pull off his boots that are making his feet feel too warm, or loosen the belt buckle that is pressing against his mid too-tightly. He could do all this, except he can't. And stars, does he hate himself for it.  
Instead of moving, Hux keeps staring at the datapad screen. The battery is at fourteen percent. He'll have to plug in the cable soon. He could do it right now, it's in the bedside drawer.  
He doesn't reach for it. Unmoving, Hux stares at the remodelling of the nightclub onscreen, and he feels nothing, and he feels helpless, and angry, and overwhelmed. Big reveal of the new look of the establishment: joy! excitement!  - the owner cries. Hux watches. Time moves in a distant sludge, tar and cotton - all the same.  
  
  
9:51, that is when Kylo finds him. The datapad is plugged in now, after having gone down to two percent. Hux' socks are soaked in sweat within the boots, and the belt buckle has long dug an angry red line into his skin underneath too-warm layers of stiff uniform. Hux feels a spike of emotion as he hears the door open - panic and relief, mushed into one feeling. It lasts mere seconds.  
"Hi there..." Kylo goes as he approaches the bed. He sits down next to Hux, and inside, Hux is screaming. Go away. Go away. Stay. Don't leave me. Help. _Help_. Go away. Don't bother.

I'm sorry.

  
"How are you?"  
Kylo takes off his glove, gently feels his forehead, and Hux is afraid he's going to sob, but he doesn't tell.  
He shrugs, and Kylo leans in to kiss his cheek, and he feels like crawling out of his skin.  
"I'm fine.", he says, but he's not.


End file.
